My visit to two brothels in one night without sex.

Anyone who has visited Las Vegas in modern times should be very aware of the town’s illicit temptations. Lured by free alcohol, cheap eats, and many options for the budget traveler, just a little cash can provide easy opportunities for the uninhibited. Heck, even the airport has slot machines. Excel is everywhere, and it is the town’s main attraction. Small wonder I try to make a pilgrimage annually. With great nightlife, ever-changing entertainment, and dopey drunk tourists purging money at the poker tables, Las Vegas is an easy sell. Yet, make no mistake, the town couldn’t hold a candle to New York. Even with sprinkles of advantage, overall, Las Vegas can never compete. Unless, of course, you’re the kind of hoople easily deluded by those who think diminishing tax incentives, or climate, or the increasing Mormon population is the impetus for relocating. No matter how they spin it, Vegas Is a soul-less podunk desert town populated by lesser evolved people from elsewhere. Focusing on the perks, allow me to tell of my experience one evening visiting two Nevada brothels.

Now anyone who knows me understands I’m not a fan of female entertainment. At bachelor parties I don’t clamor to watch the performers. I do not attend strip clubs. I do not care for lap dances, the VIP treatment, or any circumstance where a woman feigns interest in me for money. If I gave a shit I would be married. I don’t even watch porn…for free…even on the internet. Yet I was enthused to drive the forty five minutes to visit the biggest brothels in the region (perhaps the country). Having the opportunity to experience a taboo ritual is the stuff few can do in a lifetime. Doing it, in a completely legal and regulated environment really sets the scene apart! (Interestingly, paying for the services of a prostitute while travelling to Nevada Is OK with my job as a Police Officer. However, if I travelled to Amsterdam or Montreal and engaged in the legal and regulated act of smoking marijuana, I can be fired- even years after legal ingestion- for having traces of the substance in my hair, blood or urine.)

Entering the world famous Chicken Ranch had me confused. After parking and admiring the soft colors and down home charm of the estate, I couldn’t open the front gate. Pushing and pulling, the gate would not open until the closed circuit monitor noticed my friend and I and buzzed us in. Stepping onto the porch and in the front door we were greeted and brought into a parlor with a small service bar and gift shop, then left alone. Nobody was at the bar and the home was still. Looking toward my friend, I felt out of place. After about three minutes of silence I walked toward the mounted display case to admire the accoutrements of prostitution. As I lifted a finger to touch the display, a piercing buzzer went off throughout the house. I immediately withdrew my hand and looked around. Then I heard footsteps. Stomping and creaking from all sides, the house came alive. Down the nearby stairs and from the other rooms entered scores of women.

Mostly energetic, they made their entrance. Dressed from g-strings to gowns, with some wearing costumes, we were greeted by all. A whore in a referee outfit blew a whistle, rubbed my back, and said “Hello big guy.” Another dressed like a school girl swung her blonde pig tails and flashed her eyelids at me. Another dressed like a cop sporting an “FBI” baseball hat. About twenty five in all stormed into the room flashing big fake smiles and politely fought for our attention. They knew the game.

Like a good investigator or poker player they seized every verbal and non verbal tell. Within a few short minutes of small talk, and taking notice of our body language, they quickly repositioned. They knew who in the group connected, and the rest slowly weaved their way out of the huddle and back to their contracted and sequestered rooms until the next buzzer sound.

For optimal pleasure, I yearned for the right connection. I sought a woman who could touch me emotionally and intellectually. One with looks and experience, I yearned for a multi-faceted woman. In fact, why not more than one? Why think small? After all, how many times does one get the stimulation of multiple women in a sanitary environment? I knew I needed to find the brightest of the abused and fractured personalities, so I gathered four women and went for it.

I bought the first round and listened as they spoke among themselves a bit. Listening, I had the groundwork for many of the answers I sought.

“Can you believe that big shot only offered me a hundred bucks for a blowjob,” one professional Rancher chuckled to another.

“I can’t believe the nerve,” responded the 40 yr old “ex” porn actress on sabbatical at the brothel.

For a house of fantasy, I learned not much can be discussed openly, according to Nevada law. Any exchange of services and fees are forbidden except in private, as well as any gratuitous touching. While brought into private rooms, as we were constantly encouraged, the game changes. In fact, while in the process of “negotiating” services anything can happen for a fee. The fees, as I unofficially learned (from my upper crust friends and colleagues) are generally five times higher than the girls that “unofficially” work the strip. No wonder the escort agencies within Las Vegas are so lucrative. Every time I return to “sin city” I notice an increase in the number of adult billboards and Mexicans lining the strip, snapping promotional materials at tourists.  

“But those WHO-AHS from the agencies are not medically tested every month like us,” Declared one dedicated employee.  Many women show off bandaged inner arm veins with pride. The brothel will only offer contracts (usually 2 to 4 weeks or longer) with proper documentation. Once under contract, the girls are not permitted to leave the premises. Full time runners are employed to get everything from toiletries to prescription meds. “Impressive,” I thought until I bought the third round.

Turns out, In between contracts, there are no regulations for these women at all. While many claim to return to college, (though they’re always working  the brothel mid-semester) the fact is, too many return to strip clubs, seedy porn studios, crackhouses, street walking, or anywhere else to ply their trade. Considering the incubation period for many sexually transmitted diseases, how effective is a test in between contracted terms of service? Some horney gang of sailors can run a train on a girl, allowing her to pass a blood test the next day, thus clearing the way to a brothel contract before the first sign of a mouth sore. One woman drunkenly boasted of her ‘private contract’ with a wealthy Arab businessman. When the gentleman arrives, his limousine picks her up for a week at a time. She dreamily spoke of the amenities in the penthouse while in waiting. Before the group, I asked aloud if the week included overtime working the Arab’s extended family? She didn’t respond, but she was irritated. From that moment on, and 90 minutes into our conversation the crowd was beginning to turn. The entertainment value was diminishing, so I suggested we move down the block to the competition.

Sheri’s Ranch is clearly the newer, larger and better run organization. It has more of a strip club feel instead of a parlor, and offers more comfortable amenities. There is a platform dancing area, as well as many couches in the large main room. In the center of the room sits a large square bar. The girls roam the room freely, dressed mostly in lingerie, making silly small talk. The angle, again, is to get men alone in private rooms.

I bought a few girls drinks and asked the same questions, mostly for verification. As a bonus we had a few blue collar “regulars” at the bar with us. The loud music encouraged the employees to speak without fear of eavesdropping, though they still did not divulge fees. Fortunately, our tradesman proudly discussed their trysts of $1000 and up without shame. As non gamblers, their visit to the ranch was a tradition. The Girls at Sherri’s were very similar to the girls next door. In fact, many alternated contracts over time between both resorts. I presumed both establishments offered similar benefits and incentive packages.  

As the night wore on, more men were entering the brothel. Occasionally the ranch professionals excused themselves for a roll call of sorts. Flashing their best smiles, and standing in a row, they glanced at potential buyers looking eager. The scenario felt like a mix between a twisted beauty pageant and dinner at a casual chain eatery; where employees are forced smile and act interested while singing their respective goofy birthday songs many times per night. In short, it was immensely entertaining to observe as an outsider. A perfect fit for the experience we sought, and with that we bid farewell to our drinking buddies and headed back to the strip.